A House Is Not A Home
by bfth13
Summary: Read it and see
1. Default Chapter

He could hear a car come screeching to a stop in front of the house. He looked over at the clock. 1:18. Rather late for Carolyn to be coming home. Particularly on a week night. He rarely got to sleep before 2; even in the days before his leg. But in the months he'd known Carolyn, she was rarely out past 11, even on the weekend.

While the hours of his housemate were really none of his business, he was curious by nature. That was one of the things that made him such an excellent diagnostician. He probed where others would pass. Nice was not part of his vocabulary or his persona. He would prod and probe until he got an answer.

He sat up on the bed, his leg throbbing. He needed another Vicoden. But he also needed to peer out his bedroom window to see what, or who, had kept her out so late on a Thursday night.

There was a car parked out in front, the lights were out. He sat and waited for her to emerge and thought back to the first time he'd met her.

It had been a warm October afternoon. He and Wilson had been having a late lunch on the patio outside the hospital cafeteria. When he'd heard her calling his name, he ducked, thinking that it was Cuddy after him again for clinic duty. He'd been successful at dodging her for months and he wasn't about to break his track record.

"It's not her," Wilson said, head motioning towards the woman who was headed their way.

"God, it's not one of the new nurses she hired for the clinic is it?"

"Doesn't look like it. I don't recognize her."

"Dr. House?" She had come up behind him and put her hand on his chair.

"Only if you're with the NJ Lottery Commission," he replied turning to face her. Wilson was right; she definitely wasn't on the hospital staff. He judged the short, slightly overweight ash blonde to be in her mid thirties. She wasn't a pharmaceutical rep; she wasn't dressed in the requisite suit to be one of those.

"I'm not with the lottery. I'm Carolyn McHendrick, I'm here about a legal matter."

"Then I'm definitely not him."

"Definitely not, " Wilson concurred with a smile on his face.

"It's not bad," she protested.

"Legal and bad are synonymous," he replied.

"Look, Dr. House, if you are Dr. House, you should have received a certified letter from the office of Alabaster and Agrew…"

"I avoid certified letters."

"..about the estate of Eleanor Dunn."

"Estate?" Maybe this actually was going to be a good legal matter.

"Yes. May I sit down?"

He said nothing, but Wilson, ever the gentleman pulled out the chair beside him.

She sat down and looked at him. He somewhat resembled the description Eleanor had given her, but Eleanor had been known to exaggerate. He did have blue eyes, but they didn't rival Paul Newman's and he certainly wasn't the dashing figure that she had described. "Look, are you Dr. House or not?"

"For arguments sake, let's say he is." Wilson was curious as to what this woman wanted with him.

"A Dr. House treated Eleanor Dunn's son, Patrick, several years back. He had an advance case of Lyme Disease which had gone misdiagnosed for over a year. Dr. House diagnosed him and cured him. Eleanor was grateful, and I think somewhat smitten with him. She passed away three months ago and Dr. House was mentioned in her will."

House thought back. He vaguely remembered the case and the old woman in question. She had fawned over him, but … "So how much did the old lady leave me?"

"Then you are Dr. House?"

"If it's over 100 he is."

"Well, I don't know the details of any monetary distributions, but…"

"Then why are you here?" House interrupted again. "Aren't you with the law firm of Antipathy and Agony?"

"No, and its Alabaster and Agrew. I was Mrs. Dunn's companion during the last few years of her life. There was no one else so I looked after her."

"What about her son?" Wilson asked.

"Patrick died two years ago?"

"I thought you cured him of Lyme."

"Maybe he could cure Lyme Disease, but he couldn't stop him from being the victim of a drunk driver."

"So what are you doing here?" House asked impatiently. "Have I cut into your share of the cash?"

"I told you, I don't know how much, if any, money she left you."

"Then what," he asked again aggravated with the conversation, "do you want with me?"

"Mrs. Dunn left you her house. Or part of it at least. It's a two family. On Nassau Street in Princeton."

"Nice," Wilson commented.

"Two family?"

"I shared it with Mrs. Dunn. She still had her independence, but I was right there when she needed help. She left that to me in her will, but she left the other half to you."

It couldn't have come at a more opportune time. The condo that he had been renting had been steadily going downhill, while the costs were going up. "They are two completely separate residences?"

"The only thing they share is an entranceway."

"Hmm…" he mused out loud. A place in the heart of Princeton; it sounded good.

"Dr. House!"

Damn, Cuddy had caught up with him.

"Dr. House, you're scheduled to be in the clinic."

"Sorry Dr. Cuddy," he said standing with the help of the cane that was by his side. "Ms McKendrick has…"

"That's McHendrick."

"Whatever. She has come to secret me off on an urgent legal matter."

"House, you can't just leave."

"Urgent matter. Can't keep the lawyers waiting now can we Ms. McHendrick?"

Carolyn was so relieved that he was going with her, she didn't know what to say. She'd been trying to track him down since Eleanor had died. There had been some question of her staying on in the house if Dr. House didn't respond to the numerous letters and phone messages that had been left for him. Certainly now everything was going to fall into place.

1:21 AM and she was still in that car. It was highly unusual he thought. Carolyn was a creature of habit; it was one of the few traits they shared. She left every morning at 7 AM for her office and was home by 6 most evenings. She went to the supermarket early Saturday mornings and since he had moved in, had done most of his grocery shopping as well. She didn't have much of a social life, from what he could see. Her only regular social activity that he could see were her weekly church choir rehearsals. And she was a pretty good singer, as he found out when he reluctantly agreed to attend a midnight Christmas Eve service.

The car door suddenly flew open and Carolyn stumbled out. No, he thought, she didn't stumble, she was pushed and fell to the cement pavement. "What the Fck?" he said out loud as he watched the car speed away. Carolyn lay on the walk for a moment before he saw her push herself up.

He put on the robe that lay at the end of his bed and hurried down to the front hallway that they share, ignoring the screaming pain that came from his leg.

Even though it took him time to make his way down the stairs, he still beat her there. He watched as the front door open and audibly gasped when he saw her. Besides having scraped her hands and knees, here eyes were puffy and red from crying, her nose was bloody and right cheek was bright red, obviously the result of being slapped.

"Evening McHendrick," he said with as much casualness as he could muster.

"Dr. House!" She was shocked to see him. She felt her face turn red with shame and bowed her head down in the hopes that he wouldn't see the obvious. She knew he would. He saw everything.

"There's something different about you. Have you lost weight?"

Anger, frustration, fear – a myriad of emotions came over her. Her head snapped up and her eyes met his cool gaze. "Yes Dr. House, as a matter of fact I have. Good night."

He put up his cane to prevent her from opening the door. "You have something you want to tell me McHendrick?"

Furious she turned on him. "No."

He refused to move. "You certain about that?"

"Damn it House, you've told me how your life is none of my business, now mine is none of yours. Ever since you moved in here you made it perfectly clear that you don't give a damn about me or anybody else for that matter. The only thing you care about is yourself, and even that is doubtful. So get the hell out of my way." She moved forward to push his cane out of the way.

He lowered the cane, stepped forward and grabbed her arm. He saw her wince in pain and realized that the situation was worse than he had first assessed. "You're wrong, I care." Without giving it any thought, he pulled her to him and kissed her.

What the hell did she think she was doing? She stared at her swollen and bloodied reflection in the bathroom mirror. It had started out to be such a lovely spring day and look how it had ended up. She didn't know what was worse, being slapped around by her ex-husband or being seen by House. And then there was that kiss…

It had started off like any other day at the office. Then she had gotten the phone call. That voice on the end of the line, one she had hoped she would never hear again after fleeing fifteen years ago. But with the internet, it was so easy to track someone down. Maybe in the back of her mind, she had also feared her might contact her. And somehow, she thought if she met him in a public place she would be safe.

He claimed to have changed, and at first it seemed he had. She'd told him she was happy that he was well. But then she'd made that fatal mistake and gotten into his car and it was just like when she had been twenty years old. He'd locked the doors and begun his attack. Even more frightening was the fact that he knew where her home was. How he'd taunted her. She'd bitten down on her lower lip to keep from screaming out loud. As it had been all those years ago, the thought of someone actually hearing was worse than the actual abuse.

House couldn't have heard what had been said, could he? The windows had been shut, the air inside the car stifling. Yet why else would he be waiting for her in the entranceway?

Oh God, the mortification of seeing him there. Praying he wouldn't see in the dim light, and knowing that he did.

Why had he mocked her? Why had he kissed her?

House was an enigma. When he had first moved in, she'd tried to be a good neighbor. Stopping by when he was home with cookies, inviting him to dinner (which he'd always declined), and in general trying to be friendly.

He'd been living there for less than a month when she'd knocked on his door and told him she was headed to Shop rite and asked if he needed anything.

"What? Can't the cripple get his own frozen peas? You think it would be too much a strain for to pick up my own pasta?"

"What are you talking about? I was just being a friend…"

"I don't have friends. I don't want friends. You are not my friend."

"I'm sorry I was just…"

"Don't be sorry; just stay the hell out of my life."

"But…"

"Just remember, I don't give a damn about you and don't you give a damn about me." And with that he had shut the door on her.

She vowed never to talk to him again. She managed to keep that vow until the week before Thanksgiving, when, in a charitable mood, she invited him for Thanksgiving dinner. He turned her down, but this time politely, saying that he worked the holiday.

"I'm sure it's very busy during the holidays. You must barely have time to breathe. If you ever need anything, because of your busy schedule," she emphasized, "just ask."

Two weeks before Christmas he'd left her a polite note, asking if she was going to the market, if she could pick up a few things. She'd been doing his grocery shopping ever since. She'd even managed to get him to come to the Christmas Eve Service. She'd left him a note, never expecting to see him there, but as the choir processed in, she saw him in the back pew. By the time the service was over and she went to seek him out, he was gone. She'd tried to invite him to Christmas dinner, but he'd turned her down and she decided that the best way get a positive response was by leaving notes, face to face communication was stilted.

They had an odd sort of friendship. Rarely speaking. But he'd accepted her enough to allow her to run the occasional errand for him. And, the day after she'd struggled to shovel out the first snow, she found a note attached to her door saying that he'd engaged a service that would be taking care of the snow. And in the spring, he'd hired a lawn care service before she'd even had a chance to think about it herself.

She'd figured they'd never be friends; friends and House didn't seem to go together, but she thought at least they were on friendly terms.

But that kiss…

It wouldn't leave her.

She undressed, trying not to look at the bruises on her arms from where he'd grabbed her. What a damned idiot she'd been. And he knew where she lived. She jumped into a hot shower and tried to scrub the ugliness of the night off.

She hurt. She wished she had some of that pain medication that House was always popping. But she knew that even that wouldn't kill it.

She stood there, scrubbing and crying.

What the hell did he think he was doing? Sitting in the darkness of his bedroom with Sam Brown preaching that you could take a horse to the water, but you can't make him drink, while Jules Holland pounded on the keys and Clapton wailed. It all seemed too apropos.

The music was loud, much louder than he'd usually have for this hour of the night. Usually he'd try to be somewhat considerate. They may have had separate residences, but the walls were thin in places.

He popped another Vicoden. She probably needed it more than him. But what was he going to do? Go knock on her door and say, "Take two and never see that bastard again?"

She wouldn't sleep that night. Not without serious painkillers and he knew the strongest thing in her medicine cabinet was Tylenol from the time he'd poked her side of the house when she'd carelessly left the backdoor unlocked.

He wasn't going to sleep that night either. It wasn't just the pain in his leg.

Why the hell had he kissed her? Was it her damned "You don't care" remark? He didn't care. He just didn't like to see her physically hurt. It would have been the same if had been Wilson. Only he wouldn't have kissed Wilson.

Maybe he did care. What was wrong with that?

Everything.

He turned off the music. Silently he stared at the ceiling.

He didn't see her Friday. That was to be expected. He didn't hear her either. She was probably hiding as best she could, trying to mask her wounds.

He didn't see her Saturday, which surprised him somewhat. Despite what had happened, she was a creature of habit and a reliable woman too. He was accustomed to her knocking early morning to see what he needed at the grocery. He waited. Nothing. It had been a beautiful spring day. He'd expected to see her puttering in the yard as she always did. In the back she would have been invisible to any eyes except his, and even then she wouldn't have known he was looking. Dusk fell and still nothing.

Sunday morning he still heard nothing. He'd had enough.

Her front door was locked, but he didn't let that stop him. He never had.


	2. Chapter 2 unfinished

Chapter 2

She was cleaning in the kitchen when she heard the front door open. Panic filled her. She looked around for something, anything, to protect herself. Knife, knife, she thought. Frantic she couldn't remember where they were. She pulled open a drawer to find only forks, spoons and butter knives. She pulled open another drawer and grabbed at the first knife she saw, cutting herself in the process and letting it fall to the floor with a clatter as she let out a cry.

He moved as quickly as he could, making his way to the kitchen where he could see her holding her left hand, as blood dripped from it. "If you're trying to commit suicide you're going about it all wrong."

Relieved that it was just him, but still on edge and in pain she snapped. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm a doctor. You're bleeding."

"How did you get in?"

He ignored her question and took her hand. "Not going to need stitches. But you did do a good job. You do have some bandaids around here?"

"Bathroom, but how…"

"Lead on McDuff. Or McHendrick as the case may be."

"But…"

"Do you want to bleed all day or are you going to let me take care of it for you? I get paid good money for this at the hospital. Well, maybe not good money, but…I suppose you get the point." He pushed her towards the bathroom, without thinking that perhaps he shouldn't know where it was.

She opened the linen closet in the bathroom. He pulled out some alcohol, gaze and tape. He put her hand over the sink and dosed it with alcohol.

A hiss came out of her mouth as the alcohol burned.

"You need to learn not to play with knives."

"I wasn't. Just what are you doing here any way?"

"Groceries." He opened the gaze and covered her palm with it.

"What?"

"You didn't deliver the groceries yesterday. I'm practically out of sugar coated frosted flakes."

"You break into my home because I didn't get you cereal?"

"And because you were having a minor medical emergency. It'll take a week or so to heal." He looked at her face, the bruises were starting to fade. "Or maybe less. You seem to be a fast healer."

She looked away, ashamed that he knew. But angry too.

"Well, now that I've saved the day," he said heading for the door, not letting her know how relieved he was that she was all right.

"I'm thinking of getting an alarm system for the house," she blurted out.

He stopped and turned to look at her. "Are you that afraid of him?"

She forced herself to look him in the eye. There was no point in lying. He knew. "Yes."

"Call and get it done. I'll pay for my half."

"You don't have to."

"It's my home too. It would make me uneasy to wake up and find you murdered one morning."

"He's not a killer."

"Right. For a good time he just likes to slap you around."

"It's not like that it's…"

"Oh," he said cutting her off. "He beats you and throws you out of his car, but it's not like that."

"I'm not going to see him again. I've learned my lesson."

"Have you?"

"Yes!"

"All right then," he said leaving it at that. "Will you be going to the supermarket this afternoon?"

She smiled for the first time since Thursday evening. "Couldn't have you run out of frosted flakes."

"Or Twinkies."

"My car is still at the office. He picked me up there."

"Didn't want him to know where you lived."

"But he knew any way." She sighed. "God damn it I am such an idiot. I should have known that he never would have changed, even after…"

"After?" House questioned.

"You didn't think this was the first time, did you? We were married. Fifteen years ago."

"Ah, young love, stupid love."


End file.
